


For Life: The King Arthur Crossover Sidefic!

by loftyperch



Series: For Life [2]
Category: Hannibal (TV), King Arthur (2004)
Genre: Crossover, Dream Sex, Drunk Sex, M/M, Past Lives, Possessed Sex, sidefic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-18
Updated: 2019-10-21
Packaged: 2020-12-22 18:06:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21080813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loftyperch/pseuds/loftyperch
Summary: Will has a particularly weird dream while on the run with his Murder Family.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> My own personal take on the King Arthur/Hannibal connection. 
> 
> I want to continue this, but I haven't decided yet. I rather like it as is.

After a lovely dinner of sausage, apples and baked potatoes, Abigail and I made a game of throwing her hatchet at a skinny pine that flickered in the firelight. Neither one of us was particularly good at it, and we cheered when she finally got the first hit of the night. Tired, I admitted defeat and doused the fire.

Hannibal was already dozing off in the tent. It was dark enough for me to sneak a quick kiss as I huddled up behind him.

“Any advice for a budding young ax thrower?” I whispered, loud enough for Abigail to hear..

“Become a knife thrower,” he whispered back, and we all laughed under our breaths.

_We’re alive and happy,_ I thought to myself over and over like a prayer. _And we’re a family._

\---------------------------

I threw a knife. Time stretched out a little too long, and, at first, I feared I had another fever. I felt drunk, but my blade hit its target. This was some kind of party. I think I was some kind of warrior … And I wasn’t wearing any pants. 

As I reeled, trying to get my bearings, I felt a rush of air at my ear and heard a thunk. Someone behind me had thrown his own knife, and - I squinted - he’d fucking _robin hooded_ mine!

I peered cautiously over my shoulder, and my jaw dropped. It was Hannibal … but he was _scruffy_. I damn near swooned to see him in head-to-toe deerskin, bearded and sharp eyed and feral. 

“How do you do that?” cried a man in the crowd.

“Aim for the middle,” Hannibal replied, looking only at me.

The party seemed to pull us apart, even as I tried to chase him down, throngs of revelers always wandering between us. A very important-looking gentleman, dressed in gleaming Roman armor, called for attention. He seemed to be sending me and Hannibal and a handful of others on a suicide mission, but I was unconcerned with the _plot_ of this dream. 

When the commander was finished and the other soldiers had stormed off, I stopped trying to fight the crowd. Instead I caught Hannibal’s eye from across the room and simply walked away. My feet took me down corridors and across yards, leaving me at what I could only assume were my quarters. There I waited, back to the door, for the soft knock I knew would come.

He took me slowly and thoroughly on a skin by the fire.

I might have died and gone to my own personal heaven. That, right there, on the rug, slightly drunk, with a version of Hannibal that looked like he actually _enjoyed_ camping, is exactly how I wanted to spend eternity.

But it was not to last.

A quick glance at my phone told me the alarm would go off in two minutes. My shoulders and hips hurt from sleeping on the ground, we had another hard day ahead of us, and the FBI might be sending a helicopter after us at that very moment. It was wonderful.

I might have dreamt of heaven, but I was happy in hell, too.

\---------------------------

Tristan woke to unexpected surroundings. He couldn’t complain; the cot was comfortable enough, if cramped. He was pressed flush against a slim, smooth body, his face buried in thick, brown curls. More asleep than awake, he kissed the neck beneath his lips. Soft, naked flesh slid against him, and he wished _every_ morning could be this confusing. His roaming hand encountered the thick, taught shape of a man’s chest. _Odd_, he thought, _but not unwelcome._

But then his bedmate rolled over, blushing like the virgin he probably was (or rather, had been).

Galahad’s nervous smile faded in recognition. “How drunk did we get last night?” 

“Drunker than we thought, it seems.” Tristan tried to read the emotions flitting across his friend’s face, but couldn’t keep up. He thought he saw disappointment or sadness, but no anger or mistrust. Just to be certain, he asked, “Are you hurt?”

“No. It’s just … out of everyone it could have been, I’m shocked it was you.”

“What’s _that_ supposed to mean?” Tristan smirked, unoffended but teasing.

“Only that I’d assumed you didn’t have such baser needs.”

“I suppose I assumed the same of you.” 

They lapsed into silence as a bird outside announced the impending dawn.

“I wish I could remember it,” Galahad whispered, sitting up.

“As do I.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first night.

That night the whole lot of them were camping north of the Wall. After dinner, despite assurances from Tristan that they were still many hours’ march away from Woad borders, Arthur set a watch.

When his turn came, Galahad leaned against a tree and tried desperately not to think. It was difficult, in the calm silence of the moonlight. _What did I do last night?_ his eyes asked the leaves and the stars. _What do I do now?_

He heard footsteps, but they were coming from camp. It was probably Arthur, unable to sleep. Still, he palmed his dagger as he turned, just in case.

With a spasm of fear and elation, he found only Tristan, hands up in surrender.

“Is something wrong?”

“I only wanted to speak with you … in private.”

Not nearly ready for this, Galahad nodded.

“I’m here to apologize,” said Tristan, eyes downcast. “I can’t help but think that I took advantage of you.”

“I rather suspect it was the other way around. After getting our orders, I’m sure I was suddenly very afraid of dying a virgin.”

“Well, you won’t.”

“No. But I’m still just as likely to die and no closer to _knowing_ anything.” In his frustration, Galahad nearly raised his voice above a murmur.

“About what?” Tristan quirked his head and smirked.

“_Love_, you miserable bastard. I wanted to know what it felt like to fall in love.”

“And you have no particular opinion on who you fall in love with?”

They still hadn’t looked at each other.

“I spoke the truth this morning; I’d always assumed you had no interest in anyone, man or woman, so I’d never … _imagined_ it before. But today, I couldn’t _stop_ imagining it ...”

“Wonderful possibilities, aren’t they?”

Galahad's silence spoke volumes.

“Then you _do_ know what it is to fall in love.” Tristan strode further from camp, into the sparse trees, forcing his young friend to abandon the watch in pursuit.

Ruffled and aroused, Galahad slipped silently between slender trunks like a deer scenting a doe, peering through the dappled darkness. Alas, he’d forgotten that Tristan was not a doe, but a wolf. Before he could even gasp, Tristan’s hand was over his mouth, arm around his waist, lips at his neck.

“Can you promise to be quiet, no matter what I do to you?”

Galahad gave a shuddering nod.

“Good. We wouldn’t want to wake the others.”


End file.
